


An Irate Tabby Cat Learns of Ineffability

by Scree_Kat



Series: Ineffable Parenthood [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Minerva McGonagall, Gen, Here be cussing, If you love Dumbledore you probably wont like this series much longer, Minerva has no time for your idiocy, She glares she scares but way deep down she cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat
Summary: It wasn't that she wanted to lie to Albus. Just that, all things considered, it felt like the only real option available to her.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Harry Potter, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Series: Ineffable Parenthood [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429525
Comments: 137
Kudos: 855





	1. A tabby's guide to redemption arcs

Minerva McGonagall knew that she was neither the kindest nor most patient woman to ever draw breath. Oh, she wasn't a bad person, this much she knew, and she trusted her instincts with the sort of fervour generally left to religious organisations and political chicanery. She believed in goodness- her own, and the rather more general sort- but as much as she believed in the greater good, she also believed that goodness must be fought for, and monitored for inevitable acts of corruption. Her father had been devastated, had hoped for a sweet, doe-eyed daughter to mend clothes and marry well rather than, as her grandmother had wryly called her, Boadicea on a very bad day. Women, her father had lamented (often), should be meek and obedient, and they certainly should not run about having _ideas_ and terrorising boys by telling them when they were wrong. Minerva thought sometimes that she sprang forth from the womb already possessing strong opinions, and her demeanour had only strengthened (or worsened, depending on who you spoke to) since developing the ability to articulate them. 

She had never been, and would never be, a meek and obedient sort of a woman. Falling into line behind pretty words and kind smiles was not something she had ever thought herself capable of.

More fool her. 

Idiocy was, to her mind, an unforgivable sin, and as such, she prided herself upon its eradication from her person, and took great pains to dispel the ignorance of students, staff, and anyone happening to be foolish in her vicinity. She did not tolerate gossip, machinations, nor unsubstantiated cockiness, and a poorly contemplated plan was liable to give her hives. It was one of the many reasons she had loved the Marauders- the boys had a knack for flawless planning that was only improved upon when Lily finally joined their ranks. Truthfully, for every time the Marauders were caught, there were dozens of pranks and incidents where there wasn't enough proof, just an unwavering certainty that they were involved. Once Lily was included, they were never caught again, but even before her arrival, the only times the boys had been caught was when Peter had been too excited to hide his actions. They all knew that when Peter made mischief, he was never alone. 

It would be reassuring, perhaps, to pretend not to know when her descent into idiocy began, but the mortifying truth was that she could pinpoint it exactly. On the day after his parents were murdered, and his own life jeopardised by a genocidal fucktrumpet, she had known that Harry Potter was in dire need of protection. As the rest of the Wizarding World celebrated and schemed, she had even taken it upon herself to monitor the child's location, just in case he was found by the Death Eaters. She had settled into her mission upon an uncomfortable fence, moving only to better see and understand the situation young Harry was being thrown into. And what she saw certainly did not improve her mood. She had warned Albus on that very first day that the muggles Harry was to be left with were entirely unsuitable. She'd even volunteered to resign her position and raise the boy herself- anything would be better than such hateful bastards entrusted with a traumatised soul. She had vowed to drop by, keep a weather eye on the child, but after her first enraged welfare report, Albus had started to fill her spare hours with additional urgent tasks. She hadn't really noticed it at first, simply rolled up her sleeves and got to work keeping Hogwarts safe and functioning, promising herself she'd drop in on Privet Drive the next day. And then the next day. And then the next. But always, there was an emergency, or a favour to be asked, and it had always seemed wrong to postpone such vital tasks when Albus swore he'd only recently checked and Harry was fine. 

She believed the kind smile and twinkling eyes. She _trusted_.

As Albus announced Harry's abduction to a silent and horrified Order, Minerva had finally begun to question whether Albus had truly needed her help, or simply wanted her to shut the hell up and stop causing trouble. She had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter. She had, at first, been furious at Albus for Harry's predicament- furious enough that she hadn't even savoured the look of terror as she'd transfigured every hair on his body into small, particularly viscous blast-ended skrewts she'd urged to wander and burrow and traumatise. And while his promise that the Book of Students would have set off fail-safe magic to alert him of a dangerous threat to Harry's safety, it was hardly enough to cool her temper. 

She had stormed from the room, no one quite game to try and stop her, forgoing a nice and calming cup of tea to investigate the Book herself. Her fury had only grown as she noted alarm after alarm had been sounded about the boy's life at the Dursley's, all noted and discarded by the Headmaster. There was no satisfaction to being proven correct, only the sort of rage that left the room quaking in terror. And when she checked the book and found a muggleborn girl with almost as many notifications, and a pure blooded boy with an increasing number of alerts? The entire castle seemed to cower from her. 

She had trusted, and in so doing, she had gambled with the safety of her students and lost, spectacularly. She would do better. She had to. 

Step one was to seize control of student welfare.

The door had slammed itself open in its desperation to be away from her, its quivering announcing her arrival to the suddenly silent Order. She had strode back into the meeting, her meticulously styled hair sparking in her rage, and stared Albus down in front of the entire Order. No one moved, or spoke, and even the louder breathers in the room managed to keep quiet. 'Three students, Albus. Three too many.' He had given her his best confused expression, but now that she knew he could not be trusted, she could see the slightest hint of concern. _Good._ Just because she hated using fear as a weapon didn't mean she wasn't perfectly capable of doing so. 'I went and looked at the Book of Students. Harry Potter had multiple welfare alarms sounded, as did a muggleborn girl, Hermione Granger. Neville Longbottom has four dismissed alerts! The Book's records state that each alert was dismissed without action. You stood here and told us you'd protected the boy, and he'd been stolen. It looks to me like both of these students were removed from their homes for their own safety. You have two choices, Albus: either you relinquish control of the Book and all student admissions to me, or I will report this to the Ministry.' She had forced the rage from her expression, replaced it with a mimicry of sadness and regret that seemed far too believable to the Order members watching the showdown. Idiots. 'Fudge has been looking for a reason to remove you from Hogwarts, and much as it pains me, your refusal to protect potential students would be more than reason enough. What is your choice?'

'Of course I will grant you control over student admissions, Minerva. If you wanted such a responsibility, you need only have asked.' The rage was back with a vengeance, but she had forced it down, staring at Albus until he nervously dropped his gaze, and tried to regain control of the meeting. Though only temporary, the damage was done, the meeting adjourned with nothing to show for it but frustrated murmuring. 

*

Her first act had been to go and put the fear of McGonagall into Neville's grandmother (oh, sure, people talk always of the fear of _God_ , but Minerva learned quickly that gods were intangible beings far too easy to ignore. _Her_ wrath, however, could not go ignored, and it was rather more helpful if people could picture her enraged face as a reason not to do stupid things, or contemplate her use of transfigured skrewts to prove a point). Making it clear that one more alert would see the boy removed from his grandmother's care was enough to silence the irate old bat's ranting, at least. Albus hadn't been brave enough to reprimand her, even after Mrs Longbottom lodged an official complaint. 

Minerva sent a copy of the complaint, and records of the alerts listed for the Longbottom family to her nephew, Head of the Auror's Welfare Department. Just in case. 

She would not be fooled twice. 

The names Harry Potter-Fell and Hermione Crowley were her first thoughts upon waking, and the last before sleep claimed her. She had searched with bloody-minded determination for the two of them, had ignored Albus's chiding that Harry should be prioritised over the search for Hermione (well, beyond implementing a series of rather wicked retaliations he had never been able to prove her involvement in, of course). She had trusted him with the welfare of her students, and seeing him so blithely sacrifice a child's welfare for the sake of convenience left her hating not just Albus, but herself. How had she fallen in line behind such a man, overlooking what was far too easy to see? Where had the righteous fire of Boadicea gone? Where had the wisdom of her namesake gone?

Minerva McGonagall would earn her forgiveness, or die trying. 

Minerva didn't believe in coincidences, and even accounting for muggle authorities becoming involved, two seemingly abused magical children vanishing on the same day was far too coincidental to be shrugged off. And she certainly didn't trust Albus's assurances that Hermione was probably fine. How would he know? He'd never met the girl, never responded to a single alert. He wouldn't even know her if she walked up and asked him for directions! Though she had never put much faith in divination, her instincts roared that the two children's lives had intertwined, and that finding one would inevitably reveal the other. Besides, there was no success without both students being found safe and well. She had let Hermione down once, before she'd ever even known the child existed. She would not fail her again. 

An alarm sounded, and Minerva ran to the Book, heart thundering in her chest as she hoped, prayed, that her kittens were okay. She had spent so long searching, worrying, that they were family to her now, and the idea that she could come so close only to lose either felt like talons raking along her heart. There was no relief, though, to see that it was another alert concerning Neville. Sighing, she sent her patronus to her nephew before calling for a house elf to take her to the apparition point. 

Two hours later, she was the legal guardian of one Neville Longbottom, hugging the crying boy tightly as she carried him to Poppy Pomfrey to mend a broken arm. 

Albus had to glamour an unburned beard into place for weeks.


	2. A Break in the Case

It had taken Neville weeks to be brave enough to speak at staff meals, not that Minerva worried too much about his shyness. Not only was he new to join a group of people who had known each other for years, he was also the only child there. Besides, Neville had spent a lifetime shouted at by his family for every little thing, and she was hardly fool enough to believe that a few days of relative safety could undo years of perceived dislike. Minerva may not be the nicest woman, and few would probably call her 'maternal', but every step Neville took in building his confidence left her beaming with pride, hugging the boy closely and praising his efforts as often as possible. The first time she had told him she was proud of him (he had thanked the house elf for the tea she had brought them, introducing himself and treating Tally like an equal rather than a servant), he had cried, having never believed anyone would find reason to tolerate him, let alone be proud. 

That night, Augusta Longbottom's dreams were particularly horrifying. Horrifying enough that she didn't sleep for weeks, and had to go to St Mungo's for treatment. 

Minerva had been utterly unsurprised when most of the other staff declared themselves honourary aunts and uncles and began to dote, because Neville was possibly the sweetest child to ever draw breath, and two minutes in his presence made it even more difficult to understand his family's cruelty. She was equally unsurprised that Albus and Severus had both kept their distance, though for vastly different reasons. Severus hated children, absolutely loathed them, and why he'd become a teacher was anybody's guess. But Albus? Albus was terrified of another month of hiding a badly mauled beard from their colleagues. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, they developed a routine, especially when they realised Neville loved herbology. Pomona would lead him to the greenhouses after breakfast, where they would cheerfully explore away the day (unless someone else came to spend time with him, stealing him away and teaching him about their own favourite subjects until the boy would likely be bored silly through his first year of study). Pomona adored Neville so much she'd created a small garden for him within his new bedroom where he could grow whatever he wanted, within reason and strict supervision. For now, thankfully, he was content with flowers, and with Pomona teaching him charms and spells to improve their growth and brighten their blooms, Minerva didn't doubt it would be the most vibrantly beautiful bedroom garden the world had ever known, even if she wasn't entirely thrilled with him having a garden there in the first place. It wasn't like she could really object, either, and Pomona knew it, the little shit. Mrs Longbottom had screeched that her grandson was a useless squib (their treatment of him had been, in their rather vexing opinions, attempts to force him to show signs of magic to prove them wrong), devastating Neville even as he'd admitted hearing the sentiment a lot throughout the years. Pomona's kind and gentle teaching had seen him flourish, magic coming naturally to him once the toxicity of his family had been removed. The garden was a perfect, innocent, and most importantly _safe_ space for him to build his confidence and reassure himself that his family were the idiotic kind of wrong and he belonged within the Wizarding World. Minerva could never begrudge him that, had even taken to buying him books and magazines about horticulture and herbology, giving him the best of both muggle and magical knowledge. 

Though she adored Neville, heart and soul, it broke her heart that Harry and Hermione were still missing. It had been months, and she was no closer to finding them. She knew they were safe- after all, there were no new messages about their welfare beyond two odd notes that they were 'on journeys of vengeful discovery', whatever that meant, which were both rescinded by the end of their respective days. The book hadn't even initiated its protective failsafe! When students were in danger, once the alert was sounded, the Master (or now, Mistress) could deem visitation necessary. Once she had declared a visitation, the Book created a momentary portkey-like effect, so that she could intervene without knowing their exact location. But instead of allowing her safe passage to their sides, as was her right and duty, the Book had simply vanished her orders for transportation until finally announcing their safe returns. 

Terrified at the very thought of such an event happening again, she had taken to sneaking into her office while Neville was busy, just to flip to Hermione and Harry's pages and reassure herself that they were safe and check (just one more time, over and over) if there was any way to bypass the Book's security. The book's magic irritated her to no end. When the children were safe, there was no way to find their addresses, a reasonable enough idea when Voldemort had been rampaging around the countryside with his thugs, but far less helpful given that the children had vanished so mysteriously. But now she could not even be sure that the Book's magic would be of use in an emergency, and try as she might to hide it, she was growing more worried with each passing day. 

Confident that no one would see her, she bowed her head, and allowed herself to wallow. 

She'd almost finished crying when a gentle, kindly voice interrupted her. 'Back again, Minerva?' She hurriedly wiped at her eyes before giving it up as a lost cause, huffing out a sigh and turning her gaze to the landscape painting suddenly including a short, red haired witch in a flowing black dress. 'Surely you have better things to do than stare at a book?'

'Good morning, Professor Hawthorne.'

'None of that, now. My name is Aoife, and you well know it.' Aofie Hawthorne was the only portrait allowed within Minerva's chambers since she'd realised Albus had the former Headmasters watching her. Aoife had been a Deputy Headmistress, murdered by her Headmaster when she learned of his plan to kill the school's muggleborns. So determined to protect her students, she had lingered long enough to tell her Auror son of the plot, saving 40 students as she lay in the infirmary, in the rather painful process of shuffling off the mortal coil. 

It had left her with a deep dislike and mistrust of Headmasters, and a strong loathing of Albus Dumbledore once Minerva had told her about her reasons for taking on the student welfare role. Though she spent most of her time with Pomona, or monitoring Dumbledore's office, just in case, Aoife wandered in from time to time for a quick chat, and Minerva found herself growing increasingly fond of the woman. 

'As you wish. And yes, I do have better things to do, but I can't help but worry.' Aofie gestured for an explanation, and Minerva hurried to oblige, explaining about the vanishing students and her desire to ensure their safety after Albus's rather monumental fuck up. 

'Have you told the Book this?'

'What do you mean?'

'Write upon one of their pages that you wish to speak in confidence, and then exactly what you've told me. Leave nothing out, and ensure you explain carefully why you are so determined to visit these children.' There was a glint of mischief to Aofie's painted eyes, and Minerva huffed a sigh, fully aware that the woman would give no further information. It was far funnier for her to watch the chaos unfold. Still, Aofie had died defending her students. Minerva knew that despite her trickster moments, the woman wouldn't risk the safety of children for a lark. 

As she inked the last letter into place, the book glowed golden, and the school vanished from her sight. 

*

The cottage was of a medium size, not too large nor too small, broadcasting a sense of peace and love in a way that made Minerva want to curl up in the sun and rest for a while. Instead, she sent Pomona a patronus so that Neville wouldn't worry, assumed her feline form, and settled in place upon the fence to begin her investigation.

Though Albus lamented regularly upon her failure as a Gryffindor, Minerva had realised early in life that the quickest way to sabotage your efforts was to blunder in thoughtlessly, apparently putting her at odds with the entirety of her House. To her mind, though, blundering in thoughtlessly wasn't courage so much as ridiculousness, and she would rather not make life more difficult when twenty minutes of contemplation could solve a multitude of issues. There was magic here, and she couldn't be sure that bounding to the door wouldn't see her activating protective wards, or even seeing her returned to her human form. 

No, watching and waiting was key. 

She had made far too many mistakes already. She would not do so again, not when it could mean harm to Harry and Hermione. 


	3. In which a not so random cat learns life is not quite as terrible as anticipated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the label.

Hogwarts, and the raising of a young and traumatised boy, left little time for an animagus to settle in for some quality sun-lit relaxation. It was a rather perfect day to curl up as a cat and watch the world, and Minerva was enjoying the chance to savour the quiet and warmth, even if she was rather more alert than she'd usually prefer to be on such occasions. She was so alert, in fact, that her fur had raised instinctively well before the sound of an engine overpowered the peace and the quiet. The car, a well cared for old thing that held a startling glimmer of sentience, turned into the driveway she guarded, and crawled to a stop. 

The two men who emerged were not what she had imagined. They didn't appear to be kidnappers, though what, precisely, a kidnapper tended to look like wasn't something Minerva actually knew. Instead, the pair looked sweetly besotted with each other, even if the taller of the two had just the hint of a menacing aura that was currently overwhelmed with fondness for the man on the opposite side of the car. The men seemed opposites, one tall and lithe, dressed fashionably, his eyes hidden by dark glasses, the other shorter and rounder, with the sort of fashion sense Minerva thought Dumbledore would heartily approve of. She wasn't sure it was a compliment. 

Generally, humans failed to notice a random cat lounging on their fence, yet the taller looked over to her. She had the sense he was taking her measure, felt the sudden mad fear that somehow, he knew she was something other than cat. But then he shook his head, like a dog shaking off the remnants of a bath, and turned his attention to his partner. 'Has Mya taken in another cat?' The shorter man turned to study her, tilting his head curiously before shrugging and turning away, as though his gaze naturally gravitated to the other man. 

'Not that I know of. It's possible, though.' Though both sounded fond, there was a rather long suffering tone to the conversation, like they were thoroughly used to, and less than thrilled by, Hermione's habit of adopting strays. 'As long as it's not causing trouble, there's no harm letting it rest there. You of all people know the value of resting in the sun.' Twin grins, the sort that reminded her bitterly of the Maurauders at their mischevious best, and the pair wandered inside, the taller seeming almost serpentine in his movements. Moments after they vanished from sight, a small bowl of fresh water appeared before her. 

Magic users? It made sense, of course, given that someone had managed to make an entire street of muggles forget that Harry even existed. But there was something about the casual magic that gave her pause. Perhaps it was that the bowl hadn't been levitated to her, simply appeared in a way that the magical world generally couldn't manage. Maybe it was that the car was at least partially sentient, but the magic involved felt natural to the point of accidental, rather than a deliberate effort on somebody's part. Or maybe, just maybe, it was that she could feel the power radiating off of the two men in a way she'd never felt in the magical world. 

Not many witches or wizards had the ability to feel magical energies, and she had always been just a little smug that her ability far outstripped Dumbledore's own. He'd hated it, too. But even she, well traveled and certainly experienced in studying magical signatures, had no idea what she was dealing with, and that was more than a little concerning.

She investigated the water before drinking it, of course, though normally she wouldn't dare touch some mystically arriving beverage that showed up before her- she was trusting, apparently, but even a fool has their limits. Besides, she hadn't thought to get a drink before treating a priceless artifact like a teen's diary.

She added 'kind' to the list of known facts about her kittens' new parents.

*

She saw Harry first, and it were as though the universe had dappled the light just so, and her gaze was drawn to him as though they were in a rather happy dream.

Minerva McGonagall had, in recent memory, had rather few neutral dreams, let alone a single, solitary _happy_ one. A lot of nightmares, of course, most of which involved Harry and Hermione as she could imagine them from the notes in the book- bruised and battered, terrified and alone, desperately in need of help that simply was not coming. Though generally, Minerva hated to be wrong, on this occasion, it was the happiest feeling in the world. Harry, beautiful, wonderful Harry, looked healthy (and more than a little too similar to his biological father, enough to make even a grumpy old tabby cat cry), grinning happily as he rode his bike past the nearest cottage. A sweet looking young woman stood abruptly to wave cheerfully to him before returning to her gardening in a way that fairly screamed 'daily habit'. He seemed strong, calm, and more importantly, happy and healthy, and the urge to resume her true form and drag him into a relieved hug was more than a little difficult to ignore. 

A moment later, a young girl sped towards him, her hair as wild as his. Though there were clear differences, they could easily pass for twins- it was in the tilt of their smiles, the postures and movements. Hermione called out a cheerful greeting to the gardening woman before resuming her quest to catch up to Harry. She was beautiful in the way that genius always is; unremarkable in physicality but alight with some inner, nameless thing that made her captivating to anyone sensible enough to notice her. Fearless, too, as it took barely a moment for her to catch up to Harry, and then she leapt from her bike, her body seeming to slow itself to grant time enough for her to grab onto Harry's back and settle in place behind him. Her own bike obediently kept following the pair. 

Minerva felt a jolt of surprise at so casual a display of magic, took in the fond smile on the woman's face and realised that this was their normalcy. They were powerful, and the closer they moved towards her, the more she could feel the power radiating off of them both, his shining and luminous, hers softer, somehow. Not weaker, certainly not- if anything, Minerva wondered if Hermione were the more powerful of the two- but softer, in the way an ocean seems deceptively softer when compared to a blazing inferno. Harry's magic felt like a Labrador bounding joyously, but Hermione's magic? It twisted, serpentine, around her in a way that was both staggeringly unusual and perfectly suited to the loudly laughing girl hurtling towards her. 

Their magics, she realised with no small amount of startle, felt rather similar to those of the men she'd seen arrive earlier.

Oh, she wanted them to meet Neville. She didn't doubt he would love them. Wondered a moment when she'd gotten so utterly maternal in the way that planned out play dates and fretted about socialisation. (About 2 seconds after seeing Neville's crying and agonised face for the first time). By the time she'd finished fantasising about the trio becoming friends, the two bikes had come to a surprisingly calm halt, the two children leaping from the bike. Harry hurried inside, but Hermione's focus was all for her. The girl moved slowly, delicate as a dancer, smiling a gentle kind of smile that spoke of many encounters with new animals and the urge to make them feel safe around her. 

'Hello little one, are you alright?' In all of her years as an animagus, not a single human had ever asked her that question. She offered a soft chirrup of affirmation that left the girl beaming as she cautiously stepped forward. Hermione froze.

'You don't feel right...' the girl paused, studying her as intently as the tall man had, before shrugging. 'If you're just a regular cat, you have nothing to be afraid of here. If you need help- food or shelter or anything like that- I'll make sure you get it.' The kind smile she wore fell away, and Minerva felt suddenly wary of the sweet looking child before her. 'If you're not really a cat, but another one of Beelzy's idiots... send them my love, and stay out of trouble. I'm not sure they've minions to spare these days.' Her smile was Sirius at his worst, confident in her ability to raise Hell, and Minerva realised that this was a child who would make Dumbledore's life an utter misery. If anything, the thought made her love the child even more.

For a moment, she wondered what to do, and then, calmly as possible, she resumed her true form. 

Hermione stared a moment, before muttering a soft 'huh' that seemed wildly out of place when seeing a cat become a human being. Her posture was defensive, though, and Minerva held up her hands placatingly. 

'My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I've spent a long time trying to find you and Harry, and make sure you're both safe. I'm not here to hurt you, or to take you away, or anything so foolish. I just... I needed to know that you were safe.'

'You should come in, then. My fathers should hear whatever you have to say, too.'

For such a sweet, small child, Hermione Crowley had mastered the art of the ominous delivery of pronouncements.


	4. An angel and a demon encounter the angriest cat in the known universe

'Dad! The cat was a witch!' Hermione had been polite enough to wait until the door was closed before announcing her identity to the household, at least. 

Minerva expected the sound of running footsteps, growled threats and accusations, not a rather world weary sort of a sigh, and a triumphant cry of 'I _knew_ there was something odd about that cat!' Hermione didn't falter, didn't look nervous or concerned as she led the stranger into her home, leading the way as though there were no danger to her at all. 

'Dear girl, when a stranger tells you they've been searching for you, you do not leave yourself vulnerable. What if I had evil intent, hmm? You've left yourself open to any sort of attack!' Hermione laughed. It wasn't the carefree sort of a laugh that spoke of easy, innocent childhoods. It was the laugh of someone who had been to hell and back and lived to tell about it. A shiver crawled along Minerva's spine at the sound. _You helped destroy that innocence, Minerva._

'I'm stronger than I look, don't worry.' It wasn't anything direct, nothing she could pinpoint with certainty, but there was something about the girl- perhaps her posture, or the tiniest variance in tone?- that made Minerva think Hermione Crowley was used to being underestimated, and was clever enough to use it to her advantage. If Harry was anything like his father, the pair of them would be as much, possibly more, trouble than the Marauders ever were. She couldn't wait to find out. 

'What she is, is pure bloody mischief, don't let her fool you with that sweet doe-eyed expression.' The taller man drawled as he stepped into view, leaning against a doorframe and staring her down in what would pass as curiosity if you weren't paying over much attention. 'Who the hell are you?' On the surface, it sounded like perfectly simple rudeness and bluster, but beneath the rouse, the threat was clear. Minerva straightened her spine, met his gaze resolutely, and held out her hand. He made no move to offer his own. 

'My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and given these children were abducted from their biological homes, I feel the same question applies to you.' He smiled, all teeth, the sort of grin she imagined the big bad wolf practiced in the mirror each morning and never quite managed. She had seen Voldemort - only once- during battle, grinning wickedly and oozing menace. She had the sense that this man could make Voldemort look like a rank amateur if he wanted to, and would do so without hesitation should it keep the children safe. Despite the surge of fear, she found she rather appreciated his protectiveness. The shorter man appeared at his side, expression politely interested in a way that made her instincts scream _danger_. For all that she'd tear the world down in defense of her three cubs, she doubted she'd ever have to with these two men around. As such, the last thing she wanted was for them to think she was there to cause trouble (secretly, she doubted her chances of survival if they thought her a credible threat). 'Let me be clear: I am not here to harm Hermione or Harry, nor to take them from you unless I think they are in danger.' The taller one arched an eyebrow mockingly, and Hermione snorted in amusement at her side. They all knew she wouldn't win in a fight, but damned if she wouldn't try if she needed to. 'But since I learned these children were taken, and the nature of their lives before their disappearances, I have been searching for them.'

'Why?'

' _Why_? Why, what?' Surely, they couldn't, wouldn't be asking what she thought they were?

'Why were you searching for our children, Madam?' The question, the very idea that someone could shrug off Harry and Hermione's safety, clawed at her heart and left her scowling, hands clenched into fists as she fought, and failed, to control her temper. She bared her teeth, let her rage truly claim her for the first time since Albus's beard burned.

'Once I knew what had happened, what they had been through, how could I not? What if they were in even more danger now? Let me ask you, if you knew that these two children had vanished under such circumstances, would you trust that they had been saved, shrug it off and go about your day? Or would you need to be sure they were safe? Once I knew they had been failed, I would not let it happen again.' Minerva McGonagall hadn't ever cared much for Divination- all that wooly impracticality made her queasy, but she knew better than to ignore her instincts. And right now, they screamed that the two men were testing her, playing with their prey while working out what to do with the nosey witch in their home. Polite and idle justifications would be useless against such powerful magic users, and far too open to misinterpretation. If they wanted to challenge her resolve, she would rise to the occasion.

They might outmatch her, but by her namesake, they would damn well respect her.

'Just because I had never met Hermione and Harry doesn't mean I wouldn't tear the world apart to find and protect them. They deserve no less from me. In the magical world, Harry Potter is famous. So finding out during a staff meeting that he had vanished was cause for some bloody concern. Regardless of that celebrity nonsense, they are _children._ And this boy, surrounded by protections, had vanished. No one on Privet Drive remembered his existence! There are dark forces at work in our world, gentlemen, and had Harry fallen into their hands I dread to think what they would have done to him. Of course, I went to investigate! I'm sure you can imagine my surprise to see a list of alarms raised about his treatment. Three children, alarms sounding regularly and being ignored by the Headmaster. So I seized control of student welfare, so that no other student would be left alone and afraid. _Never again_. I've been searching for Harry and Hermione since the day we learned they were missing.'

'What happened to the third?' The taller man's voice held a note of concern that shattered her anger instantly. Despite herself, she smiled as her mind turned towards Neville.

'I did as you did. I removed him from harm and gave him the best home I could.' He nodded, smiling slightly, and for a brazen moment Minerva wondered if they could one day be friends. Merlin knew, she'd welcome their advice on raising a confiscated child. 

'She's telling the truth, dear.' The shorter one muttered, patting the taller's arm before inviting her in for tea. 

Smiling, she accepted. 


	5. In which tea, in some cases, can feel an awful lot like guerilla warfare

Tea with two ridiculously powerful men, and two disconcertingly powerful children was not how Minerva had thought she would be spending her day. But her new companions were witty, intelligent, and more than happy to spend an afternoon getting to understand the magical world. Oh, they passed it off with flattery- lots of questions about her opinions on politics and hierarchies, but aside from a few recent moments, Minerva McGonagall was not prone to idiocy, nor to being charmed into submission. And though it was easy to miss- the two really were quite skillful- it was clear that they were seeking answers they should already have. Crowley and Aziraphale were powerful, more powerful than even Dumbledore or Voldemort, as far as she could tell, and possessed clear mastery of wandless magic. And yet, though clearly well trained, they seemed delighted by even simple changes in wizarding culture that happened well before Minerva's mother was born. Though she answered their questions honestly, played at obliviousness for all she was worth, Minerva was growing frustrated with the ruse. 

'You're not wizards, are you?' 

The taller one smirked into his teacup. 'I knew I liked her, angel. You want the palatable version or the one with the chance of making you run screaming?'

She quirked an eyebrow, lowering her cup to the table and crossing her arms, granting him her own more wicked smile. 'Young man, I am not prone to theatrics. I would rather throw hexes than throw myself upon the fainting couch and pout. I would like the actual, brutal truth.'

His smile grew genuine. 'If you insist. Might I present to you the Angel Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden.' He gestured towards his companion with an indulgent sort of a smile as the blonde waved. 

'And this is Crowley, rather reformed nowadays, but formerly the demonic Serpent of Eden and bringer of knowledge to humanity.' Said demon effected a short bow from the comfort of his chair before removing his glasses to reveal golden, serpentine eyes. 'We could show you our wings, if you'd like, but we'd have to go outside. They tend to make a bit of a mess.'

It made sense, in a horrible, terrifying kind of a way. For a moment, she faltered. But then she gave herself a silent but stern talking to. If there were witches, minotaurs, vampires... why not angels and demons? Granted, some research would be needed, but if it meant keeping her kittens safe, she didn't care who or what was guarding them so long as they were happy, healthy, and loved. Minerva offered them the same bemused smile she'd given the Marauders so many years ago. 'Really? You thought that was enough to get me all dithering and dazed? I'm insulted, frankly.'

Crowley laughed. 'Oh, you are a brave one.'

She looked to Harry with a smile. 'I taught your biological parents, you know. I needed to be brave, your father and his friends were absolute terrors at Hogwarts. I don't doubt that you two would be infinitely more trouble should you accept your invitations. ' The boy looked to her in surprise. 

'You knew them? My parents? What were they like?' Her confusion must have been painfully clear, as he shrugged, looking embarrassed. 'The Dursleys said they were drunks that died in a car crash. That's all I know.'

'Oh, my darling boy, your parents were heroes, not drunkards.' She closed her eyes, offered up a prayer for courage before settling her tea down, and moving to sit beside Harry. 'Your parents were not perfect, though I don't doubt that losing them so young, we've romanticised their memories quite a bit. Your mother Lily was beautiful, and very much like your sister. Incredibly intelligent, bold as brass and unwilling to stand by while others are in trouble. Your father James adored your mother, but he had to work incredibly hard to win her over. Your father was a bit of a bully at first, but your mother? Oh, she wouldn't tolerate it. He humiliated a peer after the boy insulted her, and Lily took to James with a beaters bat in retaliation. She put your father in hospital! She didn't need some boy to fight her battles for her, she'd said. She was clever, too. A lot of the boys in their house thought the girls weaker, in need of protection. But once James was in the hospital, no one could argue that she was anything less than a force to be reckoned with. It also meant that nobody tried to attack the boy again. Nobody dared risk her wrath. But once your father had some sense knocked into him? He became a very good man.'

She took Harry's hand, gave it a squeeze. 'When I said you were famous in the wizarding world, I had hoped the Dursley's had at least done you the courtesy of telling you your history, and I am so, so sorry to be the one to tell you this story. You see, before you were born, a war began. A wizard calling himself Voldemort believed that witches and wizards born of non-magical parents were lesser, sought to destroy them. Your parents fought against him. When they realised Lily was pregnant, they went into hiding, but still did everything they could to support the cause. They were betrayed, their location given to Voldemort. He attacked your home, and James gave his life trying to give Lily time to run upstairs to get you, and escape. But she couldn't get back downstairs. From what we can tell, Voldemort gave your mother a choice: her life for yours. But she refused, and sacrificed herself to keep you safe. In doing so, she invoked the oldest form of magic. She invoked love. When Voldemort tried to kill you, the curse he used rebounded, and it's believed it killed him instead. Your parents didn't die because they were off being irresponsible, they died because they both loved you so much they would willingly give their lives to see you safe.' Harry threw himself towards her, and she opened her arms, hugging him tightly. 'The Dursleys were cruel to let you believe for even a moment that your parents didn't love you.'

'They'll get what's coming to them.' A chill worked its way along Minerva's spine, branching out to shudder its way through every vein and artery. There was something horrifying in the way Hermione said it, the blending of threat and promise, like Fate had borrowed the girl's voice a moment and made a pronouncement.

'They already have, my darling. But don't worry, now we know the truth, we'll add a little something extra to the punishment.' She'd expected Crowley to be the vengeful one, being a demon and all. But the look on the angel's face was pure wickedness, righteous though it may be. Beside him, Crowley looked just as ready to wage war on Harry's behalf. She nodded, glad she wasn't alone in waging guerilla warfare on those seeking to harm her kittens, and offered the men a smile.

'I knew I was going to like you two. Perhaps later we can exchange notes on properly terrifying wayward former caregivers?'

'Oh, it would be our genuine pleasure.'

*

The problem with telling highly intelligent children difficult stories was that they would inevitably have questions, more often than not the sort that were very difficult to answer. 'Why would he want to kill me, though?'

'That, I simply do not know. I've been trying to find out, but so far, I've found nothing.' She didn't miss the look that passed between Crowley and Aziraphale, and judging by Hermione's satisfied nod, she'd noticed it, too. 

'You said 'it's believed it killed him', that means you don't know for sure?' She offered Hermione a sad smile, but didn't bother trying to soften her words. It was clear that nobody would appreciate the effort, and she would rather be deemed paranoid than deny them information that could keep them all safe. 

'Truthfully, I don't know. Perhaps it's paranoia that makes me unable to confirm it. The Ministry says he's dead, and that should be good enough, I suppose. But it simply doesn't add up. The spell he used does not destroy or vanish a body. There is no reason why he shouldn't have been found at the scene, even though there were signs of a magical explosion- no doubt the rebounded energy. Even with the unexpected rebounding of the spell, the lack of a body makes no sense. After all, if it was love acting as a shield, does it seem likely that love would destroy something until no trace remained? The best I can figure is that he had some form of protection, but was seriously weakened- certainly hurt or weakened enough that he couldn't kill Harry. I think he escaped, but whether he survived his injuries, nobody knows for sure.'

Hermione tilted her head, frowned darkly. 'Why'd he use magic, though?'

'I don't understand?'

'Even hurt, he could have just opened the window and dropped Harry out of it? Or shook him, or thrown him against the wall? There were options to kill him that didn't require magic, so why didn't he use them?' She turned to look at Harry, shrugging. 'No offense. I'm glad he was too dumb to think of it, but it doesn't make sense, does it?'

'Not really, no.' Bless him, the boy looked utterly unsurprised by Hermione's line of questioning. 

'When you can do magic, it's rather easy to forget that there are other options available to you. If you never have to brush your own hair, for example, just wave a hand and have it done, eventually you'll forget how to use a hairbrush.' Crowley shrugged, seemingly unconcerned at the morbid line of questioning, but more than willing to offer answers where he could. 'We'll look into it, see if we can figure out whether he's still kicking. If he is, I'm sure your bestie would love a meet and greet.' He shot Hermione a fond, if exasperated, smile, and the girl's eyes lit up with an almost malicious glee. Normally, she'd be curious about who, or what, this best friend could be, let alone why a child's friend was so powerful her own father deferred to them. But there was something in his expression, so barely there it was only decades of watching children lie that allowed her to notice it even while his children were oblivious. 

He was already positive Voldemort was alive. Her gaze shifted towards Aziraphale, noted the minute tension in his shoulders as he stared at Harry's wrist more intently than she though wrist staring ever warranted. Clearly, the pair knew something, or at the very least were realising it, something they weren't willing to share with the children in hearing distance. She wouldn't push for answers, not yet. Given their push towards honesty with the children, if they were keeping secrets, there would have to be a compelling reason for the lie. Until she had cause to do otherwise, she would trust Aziraphale and Crowley to make such decisions on behalf of their children. But powerful, immortal beings or not, _she_ would get answers. Sooner rather than later. Her mind was already turning towards the rather monumental task of ensuring the Order had all the information it needed without risking Hermione and Harry's privacy. It would certainly be a difficult endeavour to balance their safety and the safety of other families.

She'd do it, though. And without complaint. She owed them infinitely more for her failures. 

So smoothly she almost missed it, Aziraphale turned the conversation away from Voldemort, returned the conversation to Hogwarts until the children were good and distracted, and Harry's eager voice seemed to shatter the last of the tension in the room. 

'Will you tell us more about our new brother?' That, she could certainly do. 


End file.
